


The Traditions of War

by novanglus



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 22:27:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20199169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novanglus/pseuds/novanglus
Summary: After a century of war, the Fire Nation has a practice to mark the beginning of a soldier's journey.  As Prince Zuko is gifted his first suit of armor on his thirteenth birthday, Iroh reflects upon the fine traditions of war.





	The Traditions of War

**Author's Note:**

> After rewatching the episode "The Storm," I was struck that at age thirteen Prince Zuko is already wearing a suit of armor as he walks into the war meeting with Iroh. This idea sprung up and followed.

At age thirteen, Prince Zuko was given his first suit of armor.This had become more ceremony than practicality — to show a boy’s, on the verge of adolescence, impending readiness to take up arms.Sixteen was the official age for recruits, though, and the young prince was eager to prove himself like any boy his age.In the capital, the sons of noblemen paraded in shining armor, marching as if going to battle.Usually, they began to enroll in an apprentice-like officer’s training to learn basic drill and its discipline, the chain of command and field orders, security and combat, signals and codes.

These elite junior-like military academies were an excellent way of sorting chaff from the grain.After one year, the softer boys would be quietly pulled and placed back into his regular schooling.Not everyone was cut for the life of an officer.

When Iroh was that young age (he could scarcely imagine it—over a staggering forty years ago!), he had been trained and tutored with the peers he would eventually command and fight alongside shoulder to shoulder.There was nothing quite so institutionalized just yet in the war.

But he could recall the fierce pride that burned in him, as the servants secured the collar and shoulder plates, tightening the cuirass and heavy belt over the chain mail at his waist.The steel placed an extra weight to which he would grow accustomed.His father was present as they suited him up, the Fire Lord’s tall form draped in the red tunic and boots he wore beneath his own battle gear.Azulon was silent, like Iroh, until the servants had finished their task.With a dismissive wave, the Fire Lord sent the two away.They exited Iroh bedroom, backs bent low in the customary bow and their feet carried them backward through the large ornate doors. 

“Come Iroh,” his father placed a hand on his back, guiding him toward the large dressing mirror in the corner.He walked stiffly—this armor would take much getting used to—and took measure of his reflection.He was swallowed up suddenly, unexpectedly, by fear. 

Azulon towered over him, sturdy and regal.His long, sharp features were softened as he met his son’s gaze in the mirror’s image.The Fire Lord put a hand on Iroh’s shoulder.“You’ll make a fine soldier, son.”

Staring at the young face and short figure, Iroh wasn’t so sure.But as he looked up at his father, he saw only pride and certainty.His doubts receded momentarily and he seized upon the smile Azulon graced him.Iroh determined he would make his father’s words fact. 

Later in the night, he dreamed vividly of the enemy’s capital, awash in reds and himself at the emerald palace gates in triumph.

Despite this fated promise of glory, the fear never left him.Iroh simply grew better at ignoring the plaguing doubts, learning to bear that weight like his armor.The extra layer of steel he wore altered his bending at first, his movements were less graceful, artificial.He had to re-train and adapt the forms he had memorized. 

He reconfigured his thinking too, accepting the curl of dread in his stomach as a constant presence because duty required sacrifice and discipline.And he excelled as a soldier, like his father had predicted.

Then came his son, his boy, Lu Ten standing before Azulon, the Fire Lord, in his shining armor, excitement alighting a countenance far too young and steel coating a frame far too slight to ever carry—

“You’ll make a fine soldier like your father, grandson.”

It was then Crown Prince Iroh, Dragon of the West, determined he would make his father’s words fallacy.The vision he had as a child—the fallen but majestic Ba Sing Se—would become reality, his destiny met.He would gain victory, and thus control over the Earth Kingdom so he could deliver peace.His son need not make a fine soldier.

Iroh’s planning began in earnest.But other campaigns and battles had to be fought, rebellions snuffed, resources and funds accumulated, support rallied.A feasible strategy toward victory to be plotted and presented.Like a successful game of Pai Sho, Iroh relied upon tactics, patience and opportunity.At last, with all the pieces in his hand (and up his sleeve), Iroh obtained the Fire Lord’s buy-in.However, there was one large upset.

Too much time had passed.Lu Ten was of age and after two months at the front, his son joined him.Azulon was correct: his boy made a fine soldier.But in Iroh’s gambit to prove the Fire Lord wrong, he had forgotten that even Pai Sho is a game of chance.Variables exist that cannot be predicted, such as the tenacity of your opponent, the draw of your hand.

“My fine boys, my brave boys,” Iroh had heard one of his colonels whisper as they were pushed back beyond the outer wall of Ba Sing Se, forced to retreat to save their own numbers when the hollowed-out grounds beneath them collapsed.Azulon was correct.Lu Ten had made a fine soldier.

The old monarch did not live long enough to say so.In his defeat, Iroh was denounced of title and command.He would not lead any more boys into battle, nor wear the crown.Iroh often wondered if Azulon had ever been right about anything, especially if his eldest son had the cut of a proper, fine soldier of the Fire Nation, much less a proper sovereign.

The war continued.Tradition was upheld.Azulon had always been a stickler for ritual, knowing the power a public display of royal life could hold.He had taught both his sons this lesson.So on the occasion of his son’s thirteenth birthday, Ozai arranged for quite a show.Crown Prince Zuko had rarely received such lavish attention from his father. 

A select group of prominent noble families had been invited to the event, their children considered peers of the prince by age, pedigree and intelligence.The families were also known for their influential titles, unwavering support of the imperial war agenda, and deep pockets.Iroh watched in the event in quiet observation.

Celebrations included a heavily stylized recital of Azulon’s great triumph at the Sage River, leading to the conquest of Hu Sin province.Dancers and musicians provided brief distraction before the food arrived.Conversation had been cautiously worded, subjects light but rife with political meaning.Tension was plain in the forced smiles, the tightly grasped chopsticks, the silted nervous laughter of the children. 

As they finished their courses, the tall Fire Lord stood abruptly at the table.The attendees rose with him.As Iroh clambered to his feet, a hush fell and that familiar dread coiled in his stomach.Ozai motioned toward the steward Shen, a relic from his father’s reign, who flanked a dividing screen.Iroh had never noticed it, innocuously placed in the corner. Shen folded the panels slowly, section by section, to reveal a small suit of armor hanging on an ornamental rack.

Though unadorned by the badges of an officer, the steel was the finest and craftsmanship a work of art.Prince Zuko’s face stared at the armor in wonder, his gold eyes widened in shock and an eager, hesitant smile turning his mouth upward.Iroh’s clasped the cup in his hands with tight knuckles, his breath growing shallow and rapid. 

“Prince Zuko, you are thirteen,” Fire Lord Ozai began, “shedding the last years of childhood.In a few years from now you’ll be of age for the front to perform your duty as Crown Prince.But duty requires discipline, skill, and dedication.It is now time you start training in service of the Fire Nation.Shall we suit you up?”

Zuko bowed low at the waist, a hand pressed into his fist.“Yes, Father, I would be honored.”

He was whisked away by the servants and the guests resumed their places, jesting if the young prince would take more to infantry, calvary or navy, their young sons speaking eagerly of academy.Iroh lost focus, setting aside his cup, the tea no longer warm. 

After a time, the prince returned clad in his red-and-gold trimmed armor.Iroh’s mouth ran dry, his throat closing painfully.His nephew was beaming, as he approached the small dais Ozai sat upon.He bowed low, clumsy and awkward in his new armor, dropping to his knees in cold formality. 

The Fire Lord looked upon his son in what seemed approval, satisfied with the boy’s behavior.“Happy birthday, Prince Zuko.You will make a fine soldier.”

His nephew’s face snapped up, his eyes seeking out his father’s as he said, “Thank you, Father.I promise to serve the Fire Lord and the Fire Nation with loyalty and honor.”

Applause rang out in the banquet hall.Iroh remained motionless. 

Zuko was drinking in this moment, his boyish features colored with excitement, as he struggled to maintain some decorum for court etiquette.Still, he eventually stole a glance at his uncle, meeting his gaze and smiling fully, warmly. 

Iroh looked away. 


End file.
